


Playing With Fire

by MaureenLycaon



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blackmail, Flogging, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaureenLycaon/pseuds/MaureenLycaon
Summary: Only tormenting SOLDIERs can satisfy Lazard's need for danger.
Relationships: Lazard Deusericus/Zack Fair
Kudos: 12





	Playing With Fire

**Author's Note:**

> (Disclaimer: all characters belong to Square-Enix, I'm just borrowing them. Thanks to: **marmaladecat** , who gave me permission to riff off of her marvelous commentfic on LiveJournal community **pornandkittens**. (Unfortunately, the thread in which it was posted is gone.) Thanks also to **liltigre** on LiveJournal, who beta'd.
> 
> Posted in August, 2007.)

"Sir, Zack Fair here to see you."

"Let him in, Laviza," Lazard told the receptionist over the com.

He slipped a hand into the desk drawer. Even through his gloves, the special metal of the wrist cuffs was smooth and cold under his fingertips as he caressed it. Already he could feel the heat in his groin, the knife-edge of mingled anticipation and anxiety.

Two days ago it had been Angeal, bent naked over this very desk, the papers swept to the floor in scattered disarray. Lazard remembered the hot, reluctant tightness around his cock, Angeal's low curse at a particularly hard thrust, the smoldering anger in those mako-gleaming eyes before and afterward.

Zack couldn't be pushed that far. Not yet. It would have been easier if he'd started before Zack's promotion, of course. But Lazard had his own rules. Only First Class SOLDIERs could satisfy his deep-rooted, all-consuming need to push his luck to the very brink. He kept his hands off them until they reached First Class.

Would Zack walk out, this time? No, like all of them, Zack was in too deep now to draw away. He'd yield.

The soft knock came on his door. Lazard gave a final glance at the folder lying in prominent view on his desk, before swiveling his chair to face his visitor as he walked in. Lazard had always found Zack's eyes intriguing. They were still violet rather than pure blue, as if only their color resisted the mako treatments. Right now, they were narrowed and angry as Zack looked around the office.

"Well, Zack," Lazard greeted him, "good to see you again."

Zack took in all he needed to at a glance: the folder on the desktop, Lazard's smug expression. His heart sank to somewhere around the level of his boots. _Oh, shit. Not again._

He looked around, refusing to meet Lazard's eye for the moment, trying to maintain for a few more seconds the pretense that the purpose of this call was something other than it was. Lazard stirred ever so slightly. Inwardly, Zack sighed and walked up to the desk, watching those cool eyes looking him up and down as if he were already naked.

Lazard placed one white-gloved hand on the folder. "I've been going through your folder again, Zack. Are you curious to see what is in it?"

Zack felt his jaw tighten. "No, sir," he answered. "You've already shown me."

"That's a pity," Lazard said, smiling. "Because I've been updating the files." Still smiling, he opened the folder and turned it to show him the first photo. If Zack's heart could have sunk any farther, it would have. He tried not to look directly at the picture, but he couldn't help catching a glimpse. It was a security-cam still from the last time he'd been here.

Every time he gave in, he dug himself deeper and deeper. Every time, Lazard tightened his hold upon him. He could break the smug blond bastard with one hand, or even fry him with one magical blast . . . and yet there was nothing he could do to break that hold. Not one single damn thing.

Lazard smiled. "I don't think I need to elaborate -- provided, of course, that you cooperate with me. Will you, Zack?" He flipped the cover closed but made no move to put the folder away.

Zack gritted his teeth so hard they hurt. _Scum-sucking bastard desk jockey._ Lazard watched him with a predatory intensity, and for the first time it occurred to Zack that the man enjoyed watching his helpless anger. Enjoyed the power he had over him. Enjoyed the very fact that he hated this, that he could kill him with his bare hands a hundred times over, yet didn't dare.

Zack half-turned to walk out. Screw the consequences. Even if he had to leave SOLDIER in disgrace and never show his face in public again, at least he wouldn't have to put up with this degradation any more.

_And leave the others. Leave Angeal. Abandon Cloud. Go back to Gongaga for good._

Watching him, Lazard felt the heart-stopping quiver of uncertainty. Zack actually was going to walk out this time . . .

And, as he had before, the SOLDIER turned back, shoulders slumping under their pauldrons. The helpless, sullen anger in those violet eyes made Lazard feel as if he could come right there in his pants. He'd won the gamble -- again. _I have him._

Zack took a deep breath, steadying himself, choking down his anger and shame. He knew that he couldn't stop this, but he had to make one last try. "Sir, I _don't_ think we should be doing this --"

"I _do._ And _you_ should be more respectful to your superior."

The silence that followed weighed like lead. Finally, Zack spoke, almost spitting out the words. "Yes, sir. I'll do as you say."

"Good. Undress, SOLDIER. Then come around the desk, to me."

Zack turned away as he stripped, but all that did was give Lazard a better look at his tight ass. He put the armor and clothing on a nearby chair, and put his boots underneath it, out of the way. Stark naked, he turned back and padded around the desk to Lazard, slowly, with obvious reluctance.

Lazard nodded. The young SOLDIER was a lovely sight, all long limbs and healthy muscle. He had almost no body hair -- the mako treatments tended to remove it -- but there were still a few black tufts just above his cock. Which was limp, of course; Zack wasn't enjoying this one bit. If he had been, this moment wouldn't be nearly so sweet.

Time for the next gamble. Lazard reached into the drawer, slowly pulled out the special cuffs and held them up. He watched Zack's face.

Zack's eyes narrowed again: this was a new demand, one he hadn't encountered before. Then defeat showed in his eyes, deeper than before; his shoulders slumped as he audibly exhaled.

Lazard simply nodded, acknowledging his submission. He'd been about to simply order Zack to stand with his back to him while he put the cuffs on him, but now an inspiration struck him. "Lie across my lap, face down," he directed. "Then cross your wrists behind your back."

With a barely audible sigh, Zack draped himself across Lazard's thighs. Lazard felt that warm, heavy weight settle across his legs, and it was every bit as delightful as he'd expected. He felt his cock stiffen even more. "These are designed to restrain a First-Class SOLDIER, by the way," he said, as he snapped the cuffs closed and locked them with the little key, giving the short chain between them an experimental tug and finding it secure. "Now, kneel in front of me."

Zack slid off Lazard's lap to kneel on the floor, chained, utterly naked, utterly humiliated. He looked down at the carpet, then at Lazard's groin.

"I hope you didn't have any plans for the rest of the afternoon, Zack, because you're going to spend it right there," Lazard told him. "Do a good job. Show some flair. I don't want to feel any air on my cock while you're at it, just your mouth and tongue. After I come, you can just hold it in your mouth until I'm ready again."

Lazard had made a point of wearing his zippered trousers and no underwear today. He unzipped his fly in front of Zack, pulling out his already straining cock. Zack glared at it with loathing, before shuffling a step or two forward on his knees and lowering his head. Lazard closed his eyes with pleasure as that hot, wet mouth enveloped the glans and began to suck and tongue, unwillingly at first, then more resolutely.

Zack had no doubt that this was being filmed by the security cameras. _Bastard. Behemoth-fucking bastard._ He spread his knees to lower himself and ease the strain on his neck as he worked.

Lazard opened the com to speak to his receptionist. "Laviza? I'll be taking no calls for the rest of the day. Don't let anyone in." He pushed the button to disconnect, and settled back contentedly in his chair.

Two orgasms later, Zack's knees, shoulders and neck were hurting, and his jaw and tongue were very tired. He'd long since stopped really tasting Lazard's cock; it was just some weird sort of white noise-taste for him now, the default sensation. While cursing him silently, he'd run through every obscenity he knew, most of them several times.

"Stop," Lazard's voice came sharply. Zack stopped. "I felt air there. Go on, let go."

Zack opened his mouth and drew back, too anxious to feel the relief in his weary jaw muscles. _Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit . . ._

"I told you I didn't want to feel any air," Lazard added. "Didn't I, Zack?"

Zack forced words out of his numb mouth. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"I'm afraid an apology won't do," Lazard said. "I am going to have to take action --" and he took cold satisfaction in the dread that filled Zack's eyes. "I expect obedience, and you have failed to give it to me. It appears I'm going to have to publicize some of those photos," he went on, enjoying that dread. "A pity -- you were doing fine until then."

Zack opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. Fear and loathing warred in his eyes. He swallowed hard. "Sir -- please . . ." He was almost begging.

Lazard hmmm'd, pretending to consider the matter for a few moments. "Well," he said at last, "there might be another alternative." He reached back into the drawer he'd had the cuffs in, and drew out another item. He held it up for Zack to see: a leather crop.

Zack swallowed again, staring at the crop, clenching his cuffed fists behind his back. _Bastard. He must have planned this all along._ A horrid thought came to his mind: he hoped to hell Lazard didn't make him beg for it. He didn't know if he could do that. "Sir?"

"What do you think, SOLDIER? Ten strokes with this, instead? You've suffered worse pain in combat, I'm sure. What do you prefer?"

"I'll --" Zack swallowed a third time. "I'll take the whip, sir."

Lazard smiled. "Excellent." He pushed his chair away from the desk, sweeping the few papers on it to the floor with one movement of his arm. "Get up, bend over the desk."

Unable to use his hands, Zack struggled awkwardly to his feet and half-bent, half-fell over the desk.

Lazard stood up, pulled off his gloves and stuck them in his pocket. He tucked his erection back into his pants and zipped them up -- he didn't want them falling around his ankles. Then he kicked Zack's legs apart.

"Straighten your legs. Yes, that's perfect. Now, I'm going to unlock the cuffs," he said, and did so, pulling away the shackles and setting them on the desktop beside Zack. "Grab onto the edge of the desk. Don't let go until I say you can. Now, Zack, I want you to count each stroke as I give it to you, and add 'Thank you, sir,' after each one. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Zack's reply came through gritted teeth; his fists clenched and unclenched. Lazard was pushing him just about as far as he could with this one.

He took a deep breath before speaking again. "Excellent." It was a beautiful sight: Zack's pale, muscular buttocks were on full display, uplifted and a little spread. The skin was marred only by a couple of small scars -- a training injury and a combat injury, Lazard recalled, neither of them serious.

Lifting his arm, Lazard stepped back. "Steady on, Zack."

He took a practice swing, judging the distance, before laying on the first stroke. The smack sounded loud enough to be heard through the closed door. He wondered if Laviza had heard it. Zack tensed, uttering a gasp almost too soft to be heard. "One, sir. Thank you, sir."

A red stripe rose on Zack's flesh with each blow of the crop. By the fourth stroke, his voice was strained. He gritted his teeth in preparation for each blow, tensing those muscular buttocks until the division between them was little more than a narrow slit. Lazard felt himself beginning to get hard again.

"Se- seven, sir. Thank you, sir." Zack felt his voice break a little. His hands were white-knuckled from gripping the edge of the desk. His ass felt like it was on fire, but what was worse was the humiliation. Against his will, his mind kept picturing _exactly_ how he must look to Lazard, ass up, tensing and relaxing after each blow.

"Eight, sir. Thank you, sir." Zack's words were almost hissed out that time. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes. Then he felt the lump forming in his throat. To his horror, he realized he was near crying -- not from the pain, which was fierce but nothing he couldn't handle, but from shame. Furiously he stuffed down the urge to cry, digging his fingernails into the desktop's underside. He wasn't going to give Lazard something more to gloat about. Not unless he was ordered to, anyway.

"Nine, sir. Thank you, sir." He managed to keep his voice from breaking this time. It helped to have the distraction of stifling his tears.

"Ten, sir. Thank you, sir!" Zack's held breath exploded from him in a rush, and he began gasping like a drowning man who'd just stuck his head above water. _It's over!_ But Lazard didn't give him permission to get up.

Lazard admired his work. Zack really did mark nicely -- better than Angeal, in fact. There were now ten lovely pink-red stripes across his buttocks, each one nearly horizontal, all of them evenly spaced. He was clenching so hard, the flesh was almost shivering. Muscles stood out like cords on his legs.

Giving in to a momentary temptation, he stepped up behind Zack and ran one bare hand down that welted ass as if to soothe it, but really just to feel the heat. Then he stepped back. "You can get up now."

Zack grimaced a little as he stood up. A faint sheen of sweat gleamed on his bare skin as he turned to face Lazard, waiting for the next order . . . or maybe just hoping he was satisfied. Lazard could see the paleness in his clenched jaw. The SOLDIER's fists clenched and relaxed. No doubt he was forcing himself not to rub his burning ass by an effort of will.

Lazard smiled again, feeling his cock straining at the fly of his trousers. "Taken very well, Zack," he said. "Hopefully you'll be more careful for the rest of the day." He put the crop down upon the desktop and picked up the cuffs, sitting down again. "Across my lap again." When he had Zack shackled once more, he practically shoved him off his lap onto the floor and spread his legs, unzipping his fly to let his erection spring free, practically in Zack's face. "Now, pick up where you left off." Briefly, he considered putting his gloves back on, but then changed his mind.

Zack refused to try to rub his burning ass with his cuffed hands. He lowered his head to take Lazard's stiff cock in his mouth again, thinking all the while, _You coeurl-fucking bastard._

When quitting time came, Lazard toyed with the idea of "working" overtime, but finally dropped it. He'd come again, and three orgasms in one afternoon had just about drained him dry. He doubted Zack had enjoyed it as much as he had. He smiled at the thought, looking down on that bobbing mop of shaggy black hair as the young SOLDIER worked to bring his limp cock to life again. He wished he'd thought to come on Zack's face with the last one. _Next time, perhaps._

"You can stop now," he said, not bothering to keep the languorous satisfaction out of his voice. "It's time to go home."

Zack's mouth was indeed numb. More than once, the thought of biting down really *hard* had occurred to him. Later on, he knew, he'd curse himself for not having had the guts to do it. Forcing his jaws to open, he sat back on his knees, licking his lips with a tongue that would barely work and wishing he could reach the dried trail of come at the corner of his mouth.

"Stand up so I can unlock your cuffs," Lazard said. "Good boy." Zack felt the cold metal slide from his wrists, leaving red marks. He rubbed his wrists as Lazard dropped the cuffs back into the drawer with a loud clinking, and wished to hell he could punch that look of complacency from the bureaucrat's face.

"A satisfactory job for the most part, Zack," Lazard said. "I'm sure you'll improve with more practice. You are dismissed for now."

"Yes, sir." Zack turned away, wiping his mouth with his forearm. Without another word, he went to his clothes and began putting them on, wincing slightly as the cloth of the trousers slid over the welts on his sore ass. He walked out, not daring to look back at Lazard. He didn't want to lose control -- or, nearly as bad, have to feel another surge of sour, helpless anger when he saw that smug smirk.

Lazard watched him stalk out with amusement. _A delightful afternoon,_ he thought. He'd spend some happy nights jerking off to the security tapes. Especially the whipping.

Later that night, Lazard watched the security cam recordings on his huge split-screen monitor, and again congratulated himself on having installed the second cam. The first cam had caught the action from the side, as usual; the new one was placed to the rear, where it had had the best view of the flogging.

As he reran that flogging again and again, his gaze switched back and forth between the two screens. On the side view, he watched Zack's whole body tensing, Zack's face contorting with pain as he struggled not to cry out. The rear view beautifully showed those tight, welted buttocks clenching and unclenching as the crop smacked across them.

Distracting himself for just a moment, Lazard sipped his glass of sherry, enjoying the delicate flavor, as his other hand slowly fondled his cock.

It would take time, but he figured that he could probably stroke himself to a fourth climax.

With that, his thoughts shifted away from the images on the screen for a moment. Toying with the likes of Zack, a newly-minted First Class, had been enjoyable enough, but he really would have to try this with Angeal. Or, better yet, Sephiroth. If he could persuade Sephiroth to submit to a whipping . . . . No, it would be too dangerous to try Sephiroth. Ah, but if he _succeeded . . . ._

Lazard closed his eyes, setting down his glass. Images ran in a slideshow of private eroticism behind his eyelids of Sephiroth's milk-white ass in the air, marking with a fresh red stripe with each blow, the General's grunts of pain, the anger in those weird green cat's-eyes.

Lazard gasped loudly as he came, spraying nearly to the screen with the force of his orgasm.

The water had turned cold, and Zack was going to turn into a prune if he kept this up, but Angeal had been right. He still didn't feel clean. Finally, cursing, he shut off the water and reluctantly stepped out. Thank the Lifestream, there was no one else in the shower room now.

He hastily toweled himself dry, draped the towel around his waist to hide the welts from anyone lingering in the hall, and padded down the hallway to his bunk.

His ass was still sore, and no matter how many beers he drank, he couldn't get the remembered taste out of his mouth. Zack lay on his belly on his bunk and gulped another beer anyway. At least his jaw and tongue and neck no longer ached.

 _Coeurl-fucking piece of shit,_ he thought. _One day, he's going to push someone too far. And when he does . . ._


End file.
